


Unravelling

by LMjuniper



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Don't copy to another site, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Evil EVIL Aspasia, F/F, Omega Verse, Redemption, Reiomegaverse, Romance, Shameless Smut, alpha!Kassandra, deimos!Kassandra, no knotting, omega!Daphnae
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-10-21 18:50:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMjuniper/pseuds/LMjuniper
Summary: Deimos knows what her fate is and nothing can stop her from achieving it. Not her pathetic brother or the mother who abandoned her. Not even Zeus himself. At least that's what she thinks until the leader of the Daughter of Artemis stumbles into her life. Somehow their fates are linked together and she will carve her way through anyone who tries to stop her from finding out how. Even if that someone happens to be her lover and the leader of the cult who brought Deimos up.**Non Traditional Omegaverse**





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE deimos!Kassandra. So much. So obviously I had to write a short fic about it.  
> I'm going of canon here quite a bit. If this is not your thing, sorry not sorry. :P  
> I'm making Deimos older otherwise things get a bit... I dunno, inappropriate? So I've made her 25ish.  
> Also this is an Omegaverse fic where alphas can impregnate omegas. This doesn't replace gender, there's still male/female genders in the omegaverse. Also, mine is a lot less traditional alpha/omega dynamics.
> 
> Also, I love Aspasia, I really do, and I really love her as the evil, evil enemy. I think she's a fantastic villain.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

_The world is a dark place. One that has been thrust into chaos. Dangers lurk everywhere. The world needs help. It needs someone to guide its hand. To bring order. It needs you, Deimos._

**Ω**

Humans. So fragile. Weak. Unlike her, child of the mountain, a demigod. The blood that flows through her veins has been blessed by Zeus himself to give her strength. The strength to survive the cult’s rigorous training. To endure when others would have perished.

When others fall around her she prevails, the smell of blood and fear fuelling her. Pain stirring her into a frenzied bloodlust. She has already suffered through worse. Come what may come.

Days and night without food or water, and interrupted sleep. Beatings until she could no longer walk. For as long as she could remember until one day there were no more tears. No begging for mercy. No crying for a mother that would never come. That was the day she became Deimos. The most powerful warrior in all of Greece. In the world. A world which shall soon kneel before her. Nothing will stop her. The world will fear her just like the cultists do.

“Deimos.” A sultry voice purrs from behind her. “Are you going to make me wait all night?”

She turns around and observes the naked woman standing in front of her. She’s pretty with a diamond shaped face, cunning eyes and dark-brown curls. In public the woman keeps it in a neat hairstyle, as married women should, but now it tangles freely across her sleek shoulders.

Deimos lets her eyes wander down the omega’s body. Across the ample breasts, then downwards and below the bellybutton to the dark hair between her thighs. Lifting her gaze she nesteles a finger into the dark curls. It’s damp and warm there, and the small bundle of nerves reacts to her touch.

“And what of your husband? Where is he tonight?” She drags a purposeful finger between the folds. It, in return, draws a moan from the woman.

“He’s busy elsewhere.” She breaths as her body gives a shake. But she doesn't touch Deimos. Just like the other cultist she knows that  _no one_ touches Deimos. Not even the woman who gets bedded by the demigod.

“And so you come running to me like the dockside whore you once was.”

The slap comes, just as expected, hard and blazing. Deimos snarls in excitement, her abdomen suddenly pooling with heat.

“Call me that one more time.” The woman’s voice is as sharp as a knife’s edge and Deimos laughs. She does so enjoy it when the woman talks like that. Another slap burns across her face and she feels herself grow hard with need.

One hard shove and the woman lands on her back, the big pillows softening her fall. Deimos follows shortly after, landing with her face between the legs that spread wide in anticipation for her. “Make sure your husband doesn’t look between your legs tonight.” She sucked at the inside of the delicate thighs, leaving a red mark.

“So long as you keep your marks away from my chest and neck he won’t know a thing.” The woman’s breath hitches in her throat and her hands dig themselves into Deimos thick hair. She drags her tongue between the omega's wet folds. Tasting her like she's never done it before. “And careful where you spill tonight. We were lucky last time.”

“Oh, but Aspasia,” Deimos slips a finger inside, “there is no sweeter thing than feeling you around me as I come.”

**Ω**

“Thank you. I needed that,” Aspasia sighs and closes her eyes.

Adjusting her gauntlets Deimos watches her where she lays spent, and satisfied. What would the other cultists think if they saw their supposed leader like this? In front of the others Aspasia was the very face of calm. The leader was all about control, but underneath the false layer of serenity swirled anger and passion. Like the treacherous waters of the Styx.

Aspasia, the most beautiful face of Athenian politics, people said. She may look like a gentle wallflower where she dilly dallied with the elites of Greece. But there was nothing gentle about the woman. Deimos had enough bite marks and scratches to prove it. Aspasia’s lust was never gentle, never soft. She got enough of that from her husband, she’d say scornfully.

“You said you had a plan for Athens.” Deimos says already back in her armour. She has no problem with nudity but she doesn’t like to get caught off guard. And last time Perikles had arrived home early, tired after the night’s endless meddling with politicians, Deimos had to scuttle out the window. She didn’t care if Perikles found out or not, but Aspasia is adamant on that point. No one can find out she is the cult’s leader. It could weaken her position within Athens.

Deimos could respect that. She needed Aspasia in the midst of the wolves. Meddling, and manipulating.

“Perikles is to fall ill very soon. When that happens Kleon will be the new Athenian ruler. But if people are to accept him, they might need a nudge.” Aspasia plucks a grape from the bedside table.

“And how are you going to make sure Perikles is taken out of the picture?”

“Well,” the older woman tapped her lower lip almost thoughtfully, but Deimos was sure it was done entirely for effect. “I was considering Hemlock poison.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Deimos looks back at her. “They will know it’s Hemlock.”

A smile spreads across the leader’s lips, brilliant and sinister.  “Yes, Deimos.” She gets up from the bed and walks over to Deimos, a purple grape pinched between her fingers. “That is where you come in.”

Deimos snorts. Of course. “You want me to kill him.”

Light-brown eyes, sooted by charcoal narrow. “Nothing can stand in our way. Not even the people we love. Do you understand?”

She shrugs, the concept of love foreign and strange to her.

“You think me so cold-hearted? That I don’t love my husband? I do.” She steps closer.

“But you have me do things to you he never would.” Deimos truly does not understand this thing Aspasia called love. It made people weak and it made no sense to her. It didn’t have to. Love had no place in her life anyway.

“He is getting in our way to bring order to this world. Perikles must die. And you will be the one to kill him.” She brings her hand up towards Deimos face and pops the grape in her mouth.

Deimos bites down on the sweet grape as Aspasia leans forwards and brushes her lips against hers. “When?”

“When the Eagle Bearer is back.” The leader’s breath is hot on Deimos lips.

The Eagle Bearer. The misthios who claimed to be her brother. He’d pretended to know her, know who she was. She let out a hard scoff.  What was it he'd called her? Kassandra. A weakling’s name. The misthios seemed so soft. He'd reached out for her and she'd slapped his hand away. No one touches Deimos. He looked like a wolf's pup about to be slain when he asked her to come look for mater with him. Like children in a bard's story. She knew what Alexios had done. What they all did that day on the mountain. The day she was reborn. Cast to her death. Reborn from stones.

“I'll deal with him.”

“You are not to hurt Alexios.” Aspasia grabs her chin between her thumb and index finger. “Remember what I said.”

Deimos slaps her hand away. Hard. “Don't…”

The leader holds up her hands in the air, a slow, dangerous smile growing on her lips, the shine of hunger back in her eyes.

“You are to kill Perikles and make Alexios suffer. Just like you have. Wear him down. But you are not to harm him. We still need him. Do you understand?”

She scowls at the naked woman with her hands in the air.

Aspasia eyes narrow as she bites into her lip and reaches out for Deimos’ neck. Her fingers curl around it, just below the defined jawline. Then she squeezes hard. “What of your brother?”

Deimos bares her teeth at the small woman. “ _Pain_ is the only brother I have.”

“Show me.”

**Ω**

Deimos. His sister is Deimos, the cult’s greatest weapon. The memory of seeing her again is so vivid it feels like he’s still there as she kicks the brazier that topples over with a loud crash. Pieces of molten wood crackle and spark against her skin as she walks right through it, her face calm but deadly. She doesn’t even flinch, but tosses the head she’s carrying in her hands into the air. It lands with a sickening wet crunch on the stone floor then rolls to stop by the cultists’ feet.

Alexios hadn’t quite believed the cultists when they spoke of his sister being alive. He even thought that maybe they had it all mixed up. But as he watches the young woman who descends the stairs, there is no doubt that she is his sister. She looks so much like their mater. The same eyes, and nose.

“Elpenor is dead.” Her voice is eerily calm, but it teeters on an edge. One that's frayed, and uncontrolled. He sinks to the back of the crowd but he cannot take his eyes off of her. The pale, almost white skin, the gaunt cheeks and hollow dark eyes. Eyes that are cold, distant and full of hate. They drag themselves slowly along the cultists’ masks. Penetrating the mask with their piercing, hard glare.

“One of you is a traitor.”

Will she be able to single him out? Of course she had. She was like a hound that had caught on to the scent of a scared hare. But she’d let him go. He’d whispered her name, quietly, and she flinched looking at him. With doubt? Anger? He could not say.

They meet again, but each time she lets him walk away. Not without trying to challenge him, but so far he’s refused to fight her. Until last night. The first time he truly met his sister in battle. Her eyes shone, bright and full of anger. Of hatred. Hate that seemed to fuel her on the battlefield as she cut through her enemies. Deimos was unstoppable. A monster. But she’s still his baby sister. She is still Kassandra and he promised mater he would bring Kassandra home. He will _not_ fail his sister again.

Footsteps thud across the small courtyard outside his cell drawing his attention away from his thoughts. He lifts his gaze to see his sister. She walks like she’s heading for a enemy, about to take him down. He supposes that’s not entirely inaccurate. Despite his attempt to talk sense into her, Kassandra sees him as the enemy.

“I don’t know what you were thinking back there.” She folds her arms across her chest, brows furrowing as he gets up.

“What? Trying to save you?” He’s tired, his head throbs with pain and he’s getting frustrated with her resisting his attempts to save her.

She scoffs. “Why are you here?”

He grabs the metal bars and pulls himself closer to her. “Kassandra, I was trying to save you.”

“My name is Deimos!” She snarls with a scowl. “I told you to stay out of my way, but here you are and I want to know why.”

He knows she doesn’t like to be touched. He made the mistake of trying to put his hand on her arm once and she nearly cut it off. There’s still a thick scar on his wrist to remember her by. She looks even paler than the first time they met. Her lips, almost purple, and the dark circles around her eyes makes her look sick.

“Are you alright?” He holds out his hand. Not far enough to touch her, but enough so that she may touch it if she wants to. He wants to make sure she’s alright. He wants to take care of her, keep her safe.

She stares at his hand, but sniff as if she’s having a cold, her fist opening and closing. He thinks it’s what she does when she doesn’t understand what’s going on. She’d worn the same expression in the cult’s hideout after seeing his memories. Her eyes dart back up to his something flashing in them for the briefest of moments. But he can’t tell what it is exactly.

“Tell me what you know.”

He tries to keep the frown off his face. Why would she ask him such thing? He tries to read her expression but she looks at him with a flat, unreadable expression.

“Tell me.” She insists.

“Why not ask your precious cult?” She flinches at his words and this time he doesn’t bother to hide his frown. “They’re not telling you everything, are they?” Her frown deepens and she scowls even harder. She looks just like pater—Nikolaous—when he knew he was losing an argument with mater. If only she knew how much like their parents she looks like right now. He chuckles despite himself and draws her ire. She grabs his tunic and yank him hard into the bars.

“ _Why_ are you laughing?” she hisses.

“Sorry, sorry.” He holds his hands up in the air. “You just look a lot like our parents.”

“You’re lying.” She shoves him so hard he stumbles backwards.

“If you’re asking me what I know, it means the cult isn’t telling you everything.”

She laughs then, taunting him. “You think me a puppet?”

It’s his turn to cross his arms. “I think they’re using you.”

“They _raised_ me. Unlike our dear mater and pater who abandoned me.”

“Is that what they told you happened?”

“ _You_ confirmed it.” She points her finger at him then at the side of her own head. “With your memories.”

“ _They_ took you away from us!” He hears his own vice rise in frustration. Why wasn’t she listening to him? “Mater went to look for you, she found you and brought you to the temple. But the priests, _the cultists_ , told her you died.”

“No!” She shakes her head violently, eyes dark and even though he’s the one behind bars, Kassandra is the one who paces back and forth like a caged, wild animal. “No, you’re lying to me. You’re trying to—”

“Listen to me,” he says calmly the same way he speaks to Phobos when he’s agitated. “You know there’s something they’re not telling you, why else would you ask me? Get away from them before it’s too late. You don’t have to come with me, but you and I, we’re just soldiers to them. Expendable. We have no place in the world as they want it shaped.”

She stops dead in her tracks. “Then I guess I wasn’t meant to belong anywhere.”

“What’s going on here?” Kleon, the man who had opposed Perikles back in Athens  asks. His square face is hard and suspicious as he walks up towards them.

“It’s nothing.” Kassandra dismisses him.

“I could hear your shouting from the wall.” Kelon’s lips purse in disapproval.

“I said it was nothing,” Kassandra says, her voice clipped and terse.

“Then leave. Now. This was not your action to take girl.”

Her snarl is so ferocious when it comes out, the hairs on Alexios neck stand. She grabs Kleon by his neck, her fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“Kassandra!” Alexios barks when she pulls her head back. She doesn’t listen but slams her forehead into Kleon’s nose that breaks with an unpleasant crack.

“I. Am. _Not_ . Your puppet.” She spits blood at the man who lies on the ground clutching his nose. “And you are _not_ my master.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He holds his hand up in front of him in an effort to keep her away from him. She spits at him again then turns around and walks away.

“What have you done to my sister?” Alexios grabs the bars and growls down at Kelon.

“The person you think she is, died a long time ago.” The Athenian brushes himself off as he stands back up. He sneers when his eyes meet Alexios.

“No.” Alexios shakes his head. “There is still good in her no matter what you did.”

Laughter bubbles up from Kelon’s chest, his battleworn face crinkling up in amusement. “Oh.” He exhales when his laughter dies out. “Imagine a small child crying for the mater and pater she so desperately wants. And each time, her trainer _clips_ her tiny, fragile wings.” He mimics snapping a twig in half. “Broken enough times, even children will stop longing for a family.”

“You maggots!” Rage races through Alexios and he shakes the metal bars. They clang pathetically drawing another laugh from Kleon.

“You can break every single bone in Deimos body and she will still be fighting. I made sure of that. She does not feel pain. And she certainly does not feel _love_ . There is _nothing_  good left inside of her. Just hate.”  

**Ω**

“ _Don’t_ hold back,” Aspasia growls into her mouth where she straddles Deimos, digging her nails into her shoulders. She rolls her hips against Deimos in lustful, slow movements.

“I am not your puppet, don’t tell me what to do,” Deimos snarls as she pins Aspasia’s hands together behind her back. Then with a determined tug Deimos pulls them down towards her own lap. The leader’s back arches, tiny moans and whimpers falling from her lips which each pump of Deimos hips. She holds nothing back, one hand splayed across the taut stomach, below the navel, thumb pressing on Aspasia’s small bundle of nerves. But the leader manages to wring one of her hands free and she buries it in Deimos thick hair then tug hard exposing the pale neck filled with scars.

Beautiful pain flares at the back of her head and she laughs in-between breaths. Then she releases Aspasia’s hands and let her free hand grab the leaders silky, smooth throat. She squeezes, not too hard, just enough to add pressure. Aspasia’s head falls backwards, her walls clamping hard, throbbing, and squeezing around Deimos until she tenses hard. Deimos knows the omega’s body by now and she gives one last hard pump pinning Aspasia flush against herself until they both go limp.

She rests her head on Deimos shoulder. “What had you so angry this time?”

“Nothing.” Deimos shrugs as Aspasia lifts herself off her.

“So this has nothing to do with your brother?” She slips into the purple chiton and smiles slyly when she notices Deimos expression. “Come now, Deimos. We both know you’ve never objected to being used by me before.”

“He is not my brother. He’s just another mercenary.” She pulls the dark tunic over her head.

“Well, that’s too bad because I’ve arranged a gift for you.” Aspasia dips her chin towards her chest giving Deimos one last look before turning to leave.

A... _gift?_ She Now she really was perplexed. No one simply gave her gifts. And no matter, she had everything she needed. Her armour and her blades. But Aspasia had brought her a gift? Or was it just another one of her games? The woman did have a unhealthy obsession with games after all.

“Fine,” she said before Aspasia had reached the door. “You have my attention. What is it?”

“Just remember Deimos. The easiest way to kill weeds is to cut it by its root.” The leader doesn’t stop simply walks out the door, but not before Deimos can hear her talk to someone outside. “You can let her in.”

A woman wearing a hunter’s outfit is shoved inside, her hands tied in front of her. She snarls and bares her teeth at the man who pushed her. Then she turns to face Deimos, hazel eyes hard and defiant.

“Whatever it is you want I will _not_ give it to you.”

Deimos pulls her head back and crosses her arms. This wasn’t usually how people addressed her. “And what exactly do you think it is I want?”

The woman doesn’t answer, probably to keep from giving Deimos any ideas should she not have them herself already.

“Fine. Then tell me who you are and why you’re here.”

“I am Daphnae, leader of the Daughters of Artemis.” The Daughter tilts her chin upwards, eyes blazing with unbridled anger. Deimos almost smiles. Enjoying the fury written over the woman’s face. Deimos can relate to it. Can understand it.

“The Daughters of Artemis…” Why had Aspasia brought her a Daughter? Aspasia had mentioned cutting the root. Was she to kill the Daughter? What did it have to do with her brother? She turns away from the Daughter and walks up to the window, her gaze falling on the courtyard below. “Have you heard of the misthios who carries an eagle?”

“The Eagle Bearer?”

Deimos turns around to look at the tanned, muscular woman. “You know him.” She doesn’t wait for the Daughter to answer, she doesn’t need to. Walking up to her slowly, studying her meticulously Deimos catches the omega’s scent. “You’re an omega.”

This time the Daughter shrinks back. She must be able to scent her alpha smell. She walks up close to her then and sniffs her neck. The Daughter tenses when the tip of her nose brushes against her neck. She’s not been marked. Her scent, sweet and intoxicating fills Deimos senses. She doesn’t understand it but a sudden urge to mark the omega rushes through her. Like a flash of lightning striking her. She quickly retreats. She is Deimos. A demigod. She wanted to mark no one. Certainly not something so simple as a human.

“Tell me who he is to you and I might let you live.”

The only reply she gets is a silent, angry glare. Why wouldn’t this woman talk? Doesn’t she know how powerful Deimos is? She should crush the Daughter, teach her a lesson. _Clip her wings_. She purses her lips then steps up close to the Daughter when two hands, tied together comes up between them, palms pressed hard against Deimos chest.

 _No one touches Deimos!_ But instead of the anger and disgust that flares to life when someone touches her, a tingle darts through her chest. She looks down at the hands that press against her. What was this pull she felt? Lifting her gaze she found a set of eyes blinking back at her. Could the Daughter feel it as well?

“You are not my brother’s mate,” Deimos whispers more to herself than anything.

“Your brother? The Beast Slayer is your brother?” The Daughter’s forehead puckers.

“Killing you would mean nothing to him. So why did The Ghost order me to kill you?” She studies the square jaw, the rounded nose tip and soft lips. She’s never once met this woman before and yet she feels familiar. Like she’s spent countless nights and days with her. “Who are you really? Why do I feel like I know you?”

“I don’t know.” It’s but a whisper.

“But you feel it too?”

The Daughter nods. “I cannot explain it. I don’t know you, yet by Artemis I could swear I do.”

“The artefact. It will know.” She looks up from the Daughter and over at the door. Aspasia got all her knowledge from the artefact. She must have seen something. And the artefact would allow Deimos to know what it was. Aspasia was hiding something. She always did, but something the Eagle Bearer had said played on Deimos’ mind.

“Artefact?”

“You’re coming with me.” She grabbed the Daughter by the shoulder. The odd sensations crept through her again, her palm recognising the soft skin underneath it. She watched how her hand, as if acting on its own accord, gently caressed the skin leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. _By Hades, what is going on?_ She snatched her hand away, the Daughter staring at her, eyes round, brows creased.

“Why?” The Daughter refused to move.

“Because I said so, just don’t touch me again.”

“I _didn’t_ ,” the Daughter snapped back just as annoyed as Deimos shouldered past her.

“Move.” She jerked the ropes around the Daughter’s wrists. Just enough to make the blasted woman move her legs.

“Where are we going?”

“Can you _stop_ talking?” Deimos glared at the Daughter who’d stopped once more, tied hands held up in the air in protest. “Or I will make you.”

“You can threaten me with death.” The Daughter took a step closer, eyes locked with Deimos. “But you want to know who I am to you.” Another step. “You’re not going to kill me for you will never know if you do.”

The Daughter was so close to her she could smell the a faint scent of wild flowers. “We are going to Phokis. I need you to see what this all means, if I get the answers I’m looking for I will let you live.”

“ _If?_ ”

“Who knows,” she bared her teeth at the Daughter, “I might kill you before then.”

The Daughter studied her then, lips slightly parted, impossibly inviting. “You say that, but your eyes say differently.”

She snapped her eyes away then. “Let’s find a horse before I changed my mind.”

 **Ω**  

She watches Deimos from her window, her hands gripping the desk so hard she thinks it might splinter into her hands. No one touches Deimos. No one but her.

The Daughters fingertips brushes against Deimos jawline and she doesn't even notice. Deimos is Aspasia’s creation. Chrysis may have raised her before handing her off to Kleon, but Aspasia was the one who had truly reached Deimos. She was the one who whispered in her ears, encouraged her to reach for greatness.

This leader of the Daughters needed to be eliminated. Aspasia had seen it in the artefact what would happen if she didn’t. The Eagle Bearer would choose the leader as his mate. A new child would be born into the bloodline. A child that would rise to greatness along with the tribe. A child that would start a war with the new order Aspasia had seen in the visions. A supreme ruler. But if Deimos disposed of the Daughter the visions would never come true.

White hot fury courses through her as her gaze trails the hands that press themselves against Deimos chest. She wants to break something, scream with rage. Deimos was hers. _Hers_. She was the one who controlled Deimos. She was the one had told Deimos that killing the Daughter would deliver a devastating blow to her brother. Yet the Daughter lived.

“Follow them.” She turns to the sage standing in the doorway behind her. “I don’t care if you do it yourself or who you send to do it. But make sure Deimos kills the Daughter.”

“And if she doesn’t?” the sage asks.

“Then you bring her back and I’ll deal with Deimos myself.”      

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love. I'm honestly so stoked to see fellow fans enjoying this.  
> I know I've been slow at updating, but I've got another three Dassandra and Kasspasia fics on the go.  
> I am, however, going to try to update once a week at least.  
> Anyway, I hope you like this smut-filled chapter. Let me know what you think, comments make me happy!  
> Also major thanks to SadPuppyAsshole for making me crack up with their funny comments. xD  
> Also, this might be a bit longer than three chapters. Don't hate me!
> 
> Glossary:  
> Ma Dia = By the gods  
> Pornaí = crude word for prostitute. Fun fact, some scholars don't think there was an actual difference between pornaís and hetaerae.  
> Irémise = Be calm

* * *

 

The wind howls like a pack of hungry wolves, rain whipping through the dark night sky. Deimos sits immovable on her horse, the rain seemingly not bothering her. Cold and heavy, it falls hard on them, soaking them, chilling Daphnae to her very bones. A shiver runs through her and she's not sure how much longer she can stand the cold. Her hands are still tied up, and worse, tied to the saddle after her first escape attempt.

A cold gust of wind ripples her skin and she lets out a teeth clattering groan. She might as well have flung horse faeces on the demigod judging by the way she turns around and looks at her.

“Don't think I'll fall for whatever plan you've concocted.” Deimos turns her attention back to the thin forest path ahead of them.

Daphnae glares at her back hoping that if she prays hard enough Zeus will strike the demigod down. Thunder rumbles across the night sky, lightning lashing out, splitting the heavens in half. But even though Zeus is displeased, it's not with Deimos for she is left unharmed. Straight-backed and unmoving as rain pours down in rivulets across her arms and back. Arms that seem strangely familiar.  
Daphnae's body reacts to the cursed demigod in ways she wishes it wouldn’t. It reacts to her powerful alpha scent. It feels so familiar and though the alpha herself is violent and dangerous, Daphnae finds she feels safe with her.

Even when Deimos tied her up to the saddle and her fingers brushed at the skin, sensitive and red from the ropes a buzzing tingle darted through her. Her mind protests wildly. Deimos is a monster. One that has been killing innocents across all of Hellas. Daphnae has heard of Deimos and her deeds. Deimos is the one who is responsible for the deaths of her sisters in Makedonia. Daphnae should react with contempt, not longing. Not... _desire._ It is wrong. Her head knows that. But whenever Deimos touches her, she wants more.

Blue light flickers with an ear-shattering crack, a long spindly bolt whipping across the sky. It startles the mare she’s sitting on, and it jerks its head in agitation. She can hear it breathe heavily, shivers running through its entire body. She reaches out as far as she can with her hands tied to the saddle and presses her palms against its thick, muscled neck.  
“Ela, ela…” she coos and drags her hands across the stoic creature’s neck. “Irémise.”

“Stop it,” Deimos snaps and glares back at her.

“Stop what?” She bares her teeth at the alpha. Demigod or not, she would not bow to this monster. “Calming the frightened animal?”

Deimos’ eyes flicker. “Your talking is too loud. It'll draw unnecessary attention.”

“Too _loud?_ ” Did the cursed demigod not hear the entire night sky rumbling with fury?

Deimos’ features wrinkle, dark eyes narrowing. “Your voice is—” she stops herself and an expression crosses her face. One that looks as if she ate something unpleasant. “You're distracting me.”

Daphnae opens her mouth to protest. It was barely a murmur and certainly not loud enough for it to disturb the deplorable woman.

“Be quiet.” Deimos holds her hand up and before Daphnae can say anything she points at the path ahead of them. Someone has rolled thick tree trunks into the path forcing whoever wants to pass to zig-zag between them. “That wasn’t there before.” Deimos pulls their horses to a stop and something in her shifts. Like a gate to a locked room opening, releasing something that shouldn't be let out. Something dark that makes the entire air around the demigod go cold and Daphnae can feel her skin prickle with unease.

“Deimos?” She asks quietly, but Deimos doesn’t reply. Instead, the bridge of her nose wrinkles as she scents the air. That’s when Daphnae smells it too. The scent veiled by the heavy rainfall and odd metallic smell that thunderstorms always leave behind. Alpha smell. And suddenly she knows what the shift in Deimos was.

Daphnae is an unmarked omega and this alpha smell is dominant, strong. It will want to possess her and though she could refuse being marked, strong alphas—strong men—still thought they could take what flesh they wanted.

The demigod halts the horses, leans over and with a flick of her dagger slices through the ropes tying Daphnae's hands to the saddle. Then the alpha drops to the ground, surprisingly quietly for someone who wears so much armour. Daphnae watches Deimos as she draws closer to her then scowls up at her. “I need you to get off your horse and stay behind me.”

Daphnae frowns and looks her bound hands. “Are you going to untie me?”

“Do you really want to have this discussion now?” Deimos hisses.

“No, but I also don’t want to break my neck trying to get off a horse in the middle of the dark with no hands.” She glares at Deimos with the heat of Hephaistos’ burning furnace.

“Fine,” Deimos sighs, “you can...put your hands on my shoulders for support.”

Daphnae pulls her hands towards her chest in hesitation. They both know what happens when they touch, and just like Deimos, Daphnae would rather _not_ experience that again.

“Look, Daughter of Artemis, you know I need you, but I cannot protect you if you don’t let me.”

“Give me a sword and I will protect _myself_ , as I have done all my life.” Daphnae tilts her chin upwards. She needs no one to defend her, to protect her. She is the leader of the Daughter of Artemis. She is the one who protects her sisters. Sisters Deimos had single-handedly lead a charge against and slaughtered.

“And I would if I didn’t expect that sword to get shoved into the back of the head,” Deimos hisses in a low growl. This makes Daphnae smile. Deimos wouldn’t be so bothered if she thought Daphnae would just try to stab her. She’d only be bothered if she thought Daphnae was skilled enough to injure her. The smile caused the alpha to growl again, her expression growing even darker. “Alright, I will untie you. Once you’re down on the ground. I’d prefer not to get my teeth kicked in.”

“It’s not like you smile enough for anyone to notice.” Daphnae shimmied in her saddle, swinging one leg across the mare’s back. “And how do I know you’re really going to untie me?”

“You’re just going to have to trust me.”

She snorted. “Well, that’s not going to happen.” And yet she does not protest when Deimos lifts her muscular arms towards her or when Deimos’ palms lace themselves around her hips to help steady her rapid fall from the horseback. She lands much softer than she would have, had it not been for Deimos holding her steady.

The sensations wash over her. Like a gentle wave caressing the shoreline. Her hands, bound together, drawn to the demigod’s chest as if an invisible thread pulls at them. Deimos drops her face towards Daphnae’s, and her warm breath tickles her lips. She watches it all happening, the indescribable pull that spreads warmth through her entire body. She knows she can pull away, that’s not the problem, that’s not what makes her snap out of it only to realise her hands are cupping Deimos’ cold cheeks. It’s the sudden feeling that she doesn’t want to. And it’s got nothing to do with their alpha-omega attraction. It’s something bigger. Something she doesn’t understand. Not yet.

Deimos lets go of her hips and takes a quick step backwards. Her face confused and flushed. And it takes Daphnae a candle drop to remember the hard press between her thighs as the demigod pushed her up against the horse behind her. Her gaze drops to Deimos’ belt. There’s the faintest hint of a bulge beneath the exomie, and Daphnae blushes and looks away. This was wrong. It was all wrong. They were enemies and if anything Daphnae should kill the demigod. But instead her body whimpers in protest at the sudden loss of contact.

Deimos throat bobs and she swallows thickly. Then after a few seconds, her expression hardens. “Once I untie you, stay _behind_ me...please.”

“You know what I really don’t like?” A voice with a heavy accent drawls from the roadblock in front of them. “Prey, that makes me chase after them. It is such hard work.”

Deimos turns towards the voice her back effectively covering Daphnae. “Prey?” Her voice is cold, and distant, but a tinge of amusement filters into it. She tilts her head to the side eyeing the handful of men standing before them, bows and spears aimed straight at her.

“Tell me…” Her head turns slowly until it stops at the two big leaders. Two alphas. Deimos leans forward ever so slightly, hands splayed out to her side. “Which one of you, wants to die first?”

The two leaders look at each other, then back at Deimos and burst into howling laughter. Their laughter is raw, dripping with the sleazy sound of too much wine.  

“Little girl,” the biggest one with a bald head laughs. “We are no simple bandits. The best you can do is give us the omega and we will let you go.”

“The omega?”  Deimos crosses her arms and taps a finger against her chin and for a terrifying heartbeat, Daphnae thinks she might be considering their offer. Omegas are rare after all. If Deimos wanted to she could use Daphnae as a bargaining chip.

“The nice smelling one behind you. She is unmarked. Think of it like road taxes.”

“Road?” Deimos laughs. “This is a sorry excuse for a road. But I tell you what, let us pass and I will show pity on you and leave you alive.”

The bald one snorts. “I am losing my patience, _girl_. Give. Us. The omega.”

“The omega stays with me.”

The bald man speaking waves two fingers in the air and before Daphnae can even blink an arrow digs its way into Deimos shoulder. She gasps and recoils away from the demigod in shock. The arrowhead, dripping with blood, sticking out from her shoulder. Deimos tilts her head to look at it before levelling her eyes with the two alphas. She laughs, hard, and loud as she reaches for the arrow and snaps it off with one determined movement. Now even the two alphas seem taken aback.

She lets out a sigh, like someone who just had a good meal. “I take it back. _All_ of you are going to die.”

Deimos spins before the men realise what is happening. Her body slams into Daphnae and they land hard in the shrubbery nearby.

“Where she go? Where the fuck did she go?!” The bald man bellows.

“Stay down and do not move until you hear me say so. These men will not let you leave,” Deimos whispers. Daphnae can only nod. Then Deimos disappears as if she was never there. The two alphas’ scents are so strong in this place. Unpleasant smells. Ruthless smells and Daphnae curls into a ball makes herself as small as possible.

A shriek cuts through the night and that's how it begins. Like an impenetrable mist, a smell of fury, rage and untamable hatred roll in across the small path. The horses whinny and trample the ground nervously as more shouts echo through the night. Until it’s all Daphnae can hear. The terrified shouts of the men who had laughed so callously only moments before. The sickening squelch as their bodies are being cut down. Their smells are fading now. The air heavy with the pungent smell of blood.

“I. Will. Break you!” Deimos’ voice pierces the darkness. A meaty thwack follows. One, two, three...she doesn’t stop, just keep on pummeling the screaming man until his voice dies out. Thwack. Thwack. The other alpha must be dead by now. Thwack. Thwack.

Daphnae sits up listening to the angry grunts coming from the demigod. Why isn’t she stopping? _Stop it!_ Daphnae has never felt so much violence, so much hatred, anger and...she sniffs the air and blinks in surprise. Fear. Hurt. Vengeance.

She crawls out from the bushes and watches the demigod. She raises her fist high in the air over, and over again. A primal scream ripping from her lips. Daphnae walks up towards her, instinct taking over. She wants to soothe the hurt. Soothe the fear. And so she drops to her knees behind Deimos and leans into her. Her hands, though still bound, gently grab Deimos’ arm, where the exposed skin is sticky and wet with blood. Deimos stiffen, her hand freezing mid-air but then Daphnae nuzzles her nose against her neck and purrs. Deimos slumps into the omega, bloodied fist dropping to her side.

Daphnae can’t tell where it comes from. Their connection. Or the name that falls from her lips for she has never heard it before. “Irémise, Kassandra.”

 **Ω**    

Deimos stares into the dancing flames of the campfire. They crackle and hiss with sparks every so often the sound filling the small cave they've taken shelter in from the rain. Her armour is lying on the ground to dry and her shoulder has been bandaged. By the Daughter who insisted it needed to be taken care of. Deimos had shrugged. Her wounds always healed, eventually. Bandages and salves were a waste on her.

Her gaze slides over to the Daughter who lies next to the fire sleeping. Something curious had happened. The Daughter had called her something, a name. The same name Alexios had used. But when Alexios said it, she hated it. Hated the way it sounded. _Despised_ the way it made her feel. But the Daughter...When she speaks the name—Kassandra—it falls from her lips naturally, like it's been whispered to her countless times before.

Perhaps it's the Daughter's voice. When she'd spoken to the horse, tried to calm it, a feeling of something other than chaos had filtered into Deimos mind. It was one she didn't recognise and her thoughts had drifted away towards other things than the war they were fighting.  
Deimos allows her gaze to linger on the sleeping form. Her eyes land on the wrists, skin red and raw where the ropes had been bound tightly around them. A ludicrous thought enters her mind, and she finds herself wanting to reach out and touch the omega. To soothe the angry marks. Drag her palm across the tanned skin. She can still remember what the omega’s skin feels like under her palm. Soft, and warm. Familiar like she knows it intimately.

Pain flares across her chest, ripping her mind away from the sleeping omega. One of the alphas had gotten a kick in, right across her chest. The one who smelled like cowardice and brutality. Another flash of white-hot pain shoots through her chest and a broken gasp rips from her lips. She rubs her palm across the spot. This pain was unlike anything else she’d ever felt.

Pain. It’s a funny word to her. There is the pain Chrysis had taught her, from the moment Deimos took her first breath. But even Chrysis was weak. Her beatings, her torture, her depriving Deimos of her humanity meant nothing after a while. Chrysis was right. Deimos was no human. She was a deity. A demigod walking amongst men. This is what Chrysis taught her. And just like the simple humans of her kind, Chrysis did not deserve the attention of a god.

Then there was Aspasia who showed Deimos everything about the biting pain of sex. The pleasurable kind of pain. The one where she would tie Aspasia’s hands together, just like the older woman had shown her. Deimos would secure both Aspasia’s hands and legs to the bed and then when she stood there on all fours powerless, helpless, her glistening folds begging Deimos for attention, the demigod would thrust into her. Snap her hips without mercy. Until the leader could no longer hold herself up on her elbows but collapsed into the bed. If only Perikles could see her like that, Deimos would muse. What would he think of his _precious_ light? His wallflower consort put on a pedestal. Fucked like a simple pornaí, Deimos fingers wrapped around her throat. Just like Aspasia taught her. The omega asked for everything between the sheets. Her teeth would draw blood, her nails leaving red scratches on Deimos’ back and the alpha welcomed the pain heightening every sensation. Every clench of Aspasia’s warm flesh around her. This was the pain Deimos liked the most.  

Kleon, on the other hand, had taught Deimos of another kind of pain. Not the physical one. Granted he broke her arms, fingers, legs and ribs. But he kept giving her hope that there was more. That there was kinship to be found. And every time she thought it could be so, Kleon clipped her wings. Until she could no longer feel it. That’s when he introduced her to Eleni, a girl her own age. They were to train together. Sleep, eat, work, study. All of it together. And to truly make them work as a team Kelon bound their hands together. The bond was not to be removed until the day their studies finished.

For two festival calendars, they did _everything_ together. At first, it was horrendous having to convince someone else what to do. But after a while, they learned. To work together, as a team, to trust each other. She knew what Eleni’s every movement, every breath meant. Deimos knew when the other girl was hurting despite all their training to not feel pain. She would try to soothe the other girl’s pain with salves and herbal remedies. But the closer to graduation, the weaker Eleni grew. And so came the day when they passed Kleon’s last test. Sweaty and tired they climbed the path up to the mountain above the massive snake skeleton.

Kleon was there, hands behind his back, a proud look on his face. Eleni nudged her. They were going to be unbound at last. To be free. Deimos had hesitated, she knew the man by now. That smile, that expression, it was not pride regarding her and Eleni. It was--she realised--of himself. Moments too late she realised what would happen, and they tumbled off the edge of the cliff. Kleon stood above them smiling as they gripped at the edge with their fingers. They hung like that for too many heartbeats until finally, weak and tired Eleni lost her grip. Their hands, still bound, was the only thing keeping Eleni from falling, but she was growing much too heavy even for Deimos to hold.

“Your final lesson,” Kelon’s expression was hard, “is that there will always be someone weaker. And they will _always_ drag. You. Down.”

She’d held on for all she was worth. It was Eleni. Her friend.

“Help me,” Eleni cried below her. “Help me, Deimos.”

“You can either both fall. Or you, Deimos, can learn from this. Learn that leaning on others, _trusting_ others like Eleni is a weakness. All you need to do is say the word.”

She shook her head. No. But Kelon smiled. He knew she was much too strong to give up. To let someone else stop her. He had trained her well after all and this, this was her final test. To see if she was worthy of the powers she’d been given. Nothing had stopped her so far. She looked down at Eleni. Nothing ever would.

“Sacrifice for the bloodline.” She wishes she could say she kept her eyes on Eleni’s the entire time the girl fell. But Deimos had been a coward and closed her eyes.

Noise from the other side of the campfire draws her attention, and she watches as the Daughter stirs. She looks peaceful. It’s an expression Deimos knows, but she’s not entirely sure what that could feel like. She frowns. Why is this something she’s even thinking about right now? What will thinking about it gain the cult’s cause? _It won’t, so stop it._

The omega rolls onto her side and peels her eyes open blinking against the bright flames. Then her eyes fall in line with Deimos. And she draws a sigh.

“Disappointed I’m still here?”

The Daughter sits up slowly, her brows furrowing. “Are you going to sit there and watch me all night? I _won’t_ try to escape.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Daughter.” Deimos snorts. “I don’t sleep.”

“Don’t sleep? Who doesn’t need sleep?”

Deimos rolls her eyes. “Clearly,  _I_ don’t.”

“Impossible.” The Daughter shakes her head. “Even the strongest creatures in the wild need rest.”

Deimos laughs then. ”Clearly not the strongest.”

The Daughter's dark brow quirks. “Are you saying you're stronger than even the legendary beasts that roam this earth?”

“Point me in a direction and I'll have its head for you.” She points a small stick she found on the cave floor at the Daughter who studies her with scrutinizing eyes. Deimos feels her forehead pucker. Must the Daughter look at her with those piercing green eyes? At times it feels like Deimos could drown in them, and she doesn’t like it. “Must you stare at me so much?”

“Yes,” the omega answers simply without pretence. “I want to know why you killed my sisters.”

Deimos drops her chin towards her chest and scoffs in disbelief. “Because someone told me to.”

“That does not answer my question.” The Daughter crosses her arms, her lips pursing into a thin line.

“You and your sisters live in the forest without rules, with no order. We tried to talk to you, get you on our side.” She motions with her hand towards the omega. “Your sisters wouldn’t listen. They left me no choice.”

“No choice?” The omega's voice rises. “There is _always_ a choice, but you slaughtered innocents.”

“Innocents? You and your sisters kill anyone that dares pass through your territories. Territories decided by who? The men you kill or injure are none of them innocents?”

“That is not the same.” The Daughter protests.

“Call it what you will, Daughter. But it is this chaos, all over Hellas the cult must bring order to.”

“How can you sit there and be so sure you’re doing the right thing?”

“Because it is the Cult of Kosmos, we have been around for longer than you can even imagine. We are _everywhere_.”

“And just _who_ governs the cult?” The Daughter’s eyes narrow.

“The leader, who else?” This was a pointless conversation. The Daughter wouldn’t understand. And Deimos didn’t need her to. She just needed the Daughter to help her solve the mystery of their connection. Once that was done she would deal with the Daughter.

“Ah…” the omega drawls. “You are not the leader...you just do what someone else tells you?” She pauses, realisation dawning on her soft features. “You do what _she_ tells you to. The other omega.”

The way the Daughter says it reminds Deimos of Alexios’ smug face when he called her a puppet. “If you think I am some puppet—”

“Oh,” the omega chuckles, “you are...scared that it might be true.”

She hisses and snarls baring her teeth. “I am not scared. Of anything. And I don’t need you to believe me. All I need is for you to stay alive until we get to Phokis. Beyond that…” She locks eyes with the Daughter, “I make no promises.”

“Neither do I.”

**Ω**

This woman, this savage was the Beast Slayer's sister? Daphnae stares at the alpha who skulks off towards the cave entrance, her muscular back and broad shoulders illuminated by the campfire until she becomes one with the shadows.

If Daphnae had never met the handsome Eagle Bearer she wouldn't believe it. But they had the same nose, similar eyes and the same hot-headed alpha temper. The few times they’ve spent together Alexios had rarely spoken about his family. Said it was complicated then changed the subject by complimenting her beauty. And though she knew she shouldn’t pay much attention to him, she found herself liking his company. There had been one kiss, but she knew the boundaries laid before her. She’d taken her oath of virginity long ago. Long before Alexios. And her promise was to Artemis. The goddess who had saved her, no one else. No man, no woman would ever change that.

She looks over at the cave entrance. There is no sign of Deimos, but she’s there. In the shadows. Just as ominous and dangerous as the darkness outside. What could have happened to make Deimos so different from her brother? When Alexios said he had a complicated family history—a murdering, crazy zealot sister was not what Daphnae had in mind. Complicated was perhaps a bit of an understatement. Coming from someone left on a mountain top to be fed to the wolves that was saying a lot.

A rumble rolls through her stomach and she clasps it groaning loudly. Ma dia she was hungry. When was the last time she ate? That woman, the dark-haired one with the prideful tilt of her chin and hard eyes, had kept her in the dungeon for a few days. Meals were meagre if provided at all.

A small bundle lands on the ground next to her knees and she draws a startled breath.

“Ma Dia, you’re quiet!” She places her hand over her chest and scowls at the alpha. Nothing like Alexios who walked as quietly as someone trying to flush out hares and foxes from their hiding places.

“Perhaps if your stomach wasn’t so loud you’d hear me.” Daphnae thinks she sees a smile flash across the alpha’s features, but it turns into a scowl when Daphnae doesn’t open the small package.

“It’s food. Eat it or you and your noisy stomach will have the wolves or anyone following finding us before the night is over.”

Daphnae opens the small package. Tucked into a bowl is a piece of bread, goat cheese and slices of salted hare. And a small flask of oil. But it’s a modest meal, not nearly enough for two. She looks up at the demigod who shrugs.

“Are you going to tell me demigods don’t need food?” She arches her eyebrow. Deimos averts her eyes if only for a second. But it’s not out of anger or irritation, her scent betrays her. It’s something else, and it makes Daphnae wonder who this woman really is. Though Deimos is nothing but pure muscle and bulk, she looks pale, her face hollowed. Is she truly a demigod or is she merely a pawn in someone else’s scheme? In the dark-haired woman’s scheme?

“I don’t...what are you—”

Daphnae grabs the package, ignoring the alpha's protest. Even though she killed her sister’s Daphnae cannot be cruel. Artemis, her mothers, her sisters taught her differently. They taught her to care for all the lives she interacted with. And if she was to slay them, show them mercy, and honour them before their death. If she was going to kill Deimos, at least she could grant the alpha that.

“My family taught me that a meal cannot be enjoyed if not shared with the people we’re with.” Opening the flaps of the small package again Daphnae muses about the fact that it reminds her of a small picnic. One she’s been kidnapped to, but nonetheless, it is food and she is alive and there is still a chance for her to avenge her sister. When the time is right. Unless...unless there is a chance for redemption. Even the great Heracles who killed his own family found redemption.

She breaks off a piece of the bread and pours the oil into the small bowl. Dipping the bread she hands it to Deimos who’s studying her, a quizzical expression on her face. “If you don’t eat it, I’ll think you’re trying to poison me.”

A scoff. A scowl. Then a resigned sigh as Deimos pinches the bread between her fingers. They brush against Daphnae’s and try as she might but she cannot stop the purr. “I’m sorry, I...” Her cheeks feel hot but the corners of Deimos lips pull upwards.

The alpha looks away from Daphnae and bites down on her smile. “It’s...just our bond. Maybe after Phokis, it will...go away.”

Chewing on the bread Daphnae feels a scowl tug at her forehead. Why does she like the way Deimos says ‘our’ and why does the thought of losing their bond make her feel strange? Make her feel...wrong.

She swallows, the bread feeling like a lump in her throat. They are enemies. Perhaps it will be for the best, that the natural order to their relationship will be restored. "If the gods will it," she says, but isn't sure she means it.

**Ω**

Hands tangle in her hair a warm tongue dancing with hers. A moan slips into her mouth and she runs her hands over the muscled thighs and well-toned hips. The omega’s scent is musky and heady, that of an omega in heat. Deimos revels in it when slick warmth drags across the underside of her shaft. She lets out a guttural growl and is rewarded by a purr. _Daphnae_.

The omega grinds against her with slow, lustful movements, spreading her arousal all over Deimos aching shaft. Her hands find Daphnae’s small breasts and she runs her palm across the peaked nipples.

“Agapi Mou,” she murmurs to the omega. She wants her closer, _needs_ her closer. As if Daphnae can read her mind she sits up, eyes hooded glistening with desire and need. Reaching for Deimos the omega lines her up with herself, dragging the tip of Deimos between her folds. Then slowly, painfully slowly Daphnae sinks down on her and Deimos sucks in her breath, the sight of her filling and stretching the omega almost undoing her.

A shudder runs through the omega’s body, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she starts moving on top of Deimos. She’s in heat. But she’s riding Deimos with one purpose only: pleasure. She’s blissfully wet, her warm flesh squeezing hard around Deimos and her hands grab at Deimos’ chest for support when Deimos picks up her speed. She topples forward her mouth finding Deimos’ and when Deimos push her hand between them and let her fingers rub the swollen bud between Daphnae’s legs she sobs into her mouth. Deimos swallows the sob, her free hand curling around Daphnae’s shoulder pulling the omega down on herself. Daphnae’s fingers brush against Deimos’ face and then her breath starts shaking.

“Please,” Daphnae whimpers her voice ragged and breathy. She grows tighter, and Deimos meets the omegas whimpers with a whine. She needs to be deeper, needs to mark, posses. Needs to breed.

“Kassandra,” Daphnae breathes through the air laden with pheromones. It sounds like a plea or a prayer. Whichever it is, her voice is beautiful. Thready. Needy. “Look at me,” Daphnae begs. “Look at me.”

Deimos eyes flutter open and she blinks into the harsh sunlight that penetrates the cave entrance. What? Her eyes dart back and forth. What happened? Where is she? She moves to sit up. Why had she been lying down? But something hinders her, keeps her from moving. A body. Heavy, lifeless. No, breathing...sleeping?

The Daughter. Nose nuzzled against Deimos necks as she purrs in her sleep, one arm slung around Deimos waist their legs tangled. Daphnae’s muscled thigh is rubbing against Deimos’ more... _private_ area which has produced a rather large morning problem where she lies. A dream. It had all been a dream, and suddenly Deimos fills with dread. She didn’t need sleep. She hadn’t slept a full night for longer than she could remember. She would meditate to regain some of her energy. But never sleep. And above anything else, never _ever_ dream.   

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> Man, you're all so awesome, thank you so much for still sticking with me.  
> Special thanks to all of you who've commented, left kudos, subscribed and whatnot it makes me happy.  
> Like you have no idea! Anyway, I'm currently working on a billion fics (4 when I'm not being dramatic).  
> But my main focus will be this one and An Unfinished Life. Once those are done A Beautiful Mess and Twice In a Lifetime are back in the game. Probably not at all gonna stick to this and just update all of them. But expect an update at least once a week. I'll try my utmost to give you two.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. Please leave me a comment it feeds the writer in me.
> 
> Zoi mou = my soul

* * *

 

“What do you mean they’re all dead?” Aspasia, pacing across the room, narrows her eyes at the messenger.

“Deimos said she wouldn’t let the Daughter go.” The messenger dares not look her in the eyes as he speaks.

“So she lives?” She clenches her fists together when the messenger nods. “And where are they heading now?”

“We don’t know yet, they stopped in the canyon that runs through the Sacred Plain of Demeter to rest.”

She stops dead in her tracks. “I beg your pardon?”

“They slept for a few hours and then went on their way.”

She turns slowly to face him staring him dead in the eyes. “And you are certain they _slept_?”

“Both of them. Mouse, our best scout sniffed around the cave. They were both out cold.”

Slept? Out _cold_? Deimos was trained to stay alert at all times. No mouse—real or otherwise—should be able to get close to Deimos without her knowing. A scout no less would not leave with his life after spying on Deimos.

Sleeping? It couldn’t have been! Deimos doesn’t need sleep, she’s not human, she neither needs nor wants human things. All Deimos wants—all she should want—is blood. Revenge. This is what they had moulded her for. How they created her from the very start.

Granted Aspasia had been a mere cultist when the cult recruited Deimos to their cause. But from the stories she’d been told, Deimos was never to be anything more than a very powerful weapon. Not until Aspasia came along.

Before Aspasia, the alpha had been uncontrollable. An alpha who understood nothing of the natural instincts raging on inside her. Neither Chrysis nor Kelon would have any idea what to do with an alpha in a rut. And why would they? They were just normal. They could not understand why Deimos had stopped listening to them, why she was suddenly restless, angrier, and more aggressive than usual. Like a caged animal, Deimos was lashing out at her captors. The ones keeping her from rutting with an omega.

Aspasia still remembers entering the—not so subtle—meeting place underneath the temple of Apollo to the smell of an alpha in a rut. The restlessness, the instinct to hunt, to conquer.

“Is Deimos here tonight?” She asks as she follows Kelon deeper into the chamber.

“Deimos is where I am. She goes nowhere without permission,” he snorts as if she just asked him if birds fly. Kleon is a despicable man, but men were all easily manipulated. Poor or rich. Weak or strong. When it boiled down to it, all men responded the same way to a pretty face and a firm hand. She would bide her time with him. For now, he was just another step on the ladder. And she would use him to get to where she wanted to be. Where she _needed_ to be.

“I know you like to talk to the lower rank cultists, but you might want to keep your guard up with Deimos tonight. She’s been losing control lately. Killed one of the Silver Vein members for ‘sounding wrong’.” Kelon sighed. Lower rank? Deimos? She if anyone should be at the very top of the ladder given what the young alpha could do. What she'd been raised to do.

“How old is she now? Nineteen?” Almost fifteen years her junior. Deimos must be in her third or sixth rut, depending on how often she got them.

“This winter,” Kleon confirms as they step into the chamber.

Robe-clad members in masks loiter around the artefact. None of the really important members are there, just the laymen, the expendable ones. The ones that wouldn’t be a loss should someone find out what they were doing down here and decide the cultists needed to be dealt with.

Aspasia wonders when the alpha will catch on to her scent. How long it’ll take before Deimos can connect the dots. A sudden yelp echo through the dim lit chambers as two cultists are shoved roughly to the side. Deimos pushes through them with force, her brows furrowed, eyes narrowed at Aspasia.

“Deimos, you’ve already met—”

The alpha uses both her hands to shove a surprised and indignant Kleon to the side. She stops abruptly, her nose scenting the air around Aspasia. Deimos is powerful. Everything about her smells of fury and an uncontrollable need to mark and posses. It sends a jolt of excitement through Aspasia. She had thought Kleon would be her way to the top of their ranks. Now, standing before Deimos, Aspasia realises she’s been wrong. Kleon is but an ember in the fire that Deimos is.

She reaches out for the alpha, her fingers brushing against the scarred skin on her cheek. The alpha snarls and slaps her hand away from her.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

She quirks an eyebrow at Deimos who scowls back at her. This could get interesting. She reaches out for the alpha again but this time before Deimos can swat her hand away Aspasia purrs. “I could help you with your problem.”

“I _don’t_ have a problem,” Deimos top lip twitches in annoyance but nevertheless she leans in close and sniffs Aspasia’s neck. The change is instant and Deimos grabs the omega forcefully, her teeth grazing against Aspasia’s neck. The alpha pulls Aspasia close at the hip so that she can feel the effect of her presence between Deimos thighs.

“Deimos!” Kleon barks at the alpha who ignores him but when Aspasia turns her head towards him a low, rumbling growl escapes Deimos’ lips. She’s like a predator with a prey, anyone getting too close is a threat.

“Now, now…” She murmurs in a silky smooth voice. “If you let me touch you, you’ll feel much better. I promise.”

“She doesn’t like to be touched,” Kleon warns, “she only knows pain.”

 _Oh..._ This will be so much better than she could have ever imagined. “If it’s pain you like, I can show you how to  _thoroughly_ enjoy it,” she purrs.

The alpha had learned just how to handle her ruts that day in the small room at the back of the chamber. And in doing so Aspasia had given Deimos the greatest gift: knowledge. On how to recognise her ruts, on what to do with the primal need to seek out an omega. She would come to Aspasia and together they would sooth the alpha instinct. Deimos would stay with Aspasia to ease her through the days of her rut. But she would never sleep, never stay in Aspasia’s room. Instead, Deimos would barge in and pin Aspasia against the first best thing. Wall, table, bed, floor. And when they were done, she would leave just as quickly as she’d appeared, her seed barley cold between Aspasia’s loins.

Aspasia never minded. She didn’t need Deimos soft-handed love. Love was fleeting, a singular comfort for the simple mind. She wanted Deimos suffering. Wanted whatever pain the alpha had to give and Deimos always gave it to her. Whatever Aspasia asked for. So long as it wasn’t emotions neither of them would ever say no. Deimos was hers. Was Aspasia’s. No one was to threaten that. Or their plans. _No one_.

And yet the messenger is telling her Deimos has spent the night _sleeping_. There is only one reason the cultist don’t demand Deimos held accountable for her actions: they either fear her or worship her. Her bloodline. They all know what she’s capable of. If they found out what the scout had seen, would they still fear her? Worship her? Aspasia still needs Deimos. Until she’s played her part, she mustn't be swayed from the path Aspasia has set for her.

“How many know of what the scout saw?” She steps closer to the messenger.

“Just the scout and me,” the messenger assures her then straightens a bit as she pulls closer and reaches out with her hand towards him. She drags two fingers under his chin and he licks his lips, eyes searching hers.

“You’ve done a marvellous job,” she leans in close and brushes her lips against his. “Where is this scout of yours? I would very much like to thank both of you _personally_.”

He lets out a heedy breath. “Mouse stationed at the old watchtower, near the canyon in the Plain of Demeter.” He’s eager to please her. It’s typical his kind. Regular men. Mundane. Nothing like Deimos. Aspasia can tell by the way he breathes that he’s expecting something from her, but the mere thought of his hands on her body insults her. She slips the dagger from the fine fabrics of her chiton.

His eyes go wide for a brief heartbeat as the dagger sinks into his temple, then he slumps to the floor. Blood pools around his body and Aspasia lifts her chiton with her hands. Blood is such a pest to wash out from the fine imported linen.

“Cineas,” she steps over the dead body and out into the dusty courtyard, “there’s a mess in my chambers that needs seeing to.”

“At once.” The guard nodded.

“And once that’s done, I need you to send word to your troops.”

“Orders?”

“Raze the Daughters of Artemis to the ground. Every single one of them.”

The guard nodded. “At once.”

“Let them know Kosmos demands it. _Deimos_ demands it.”

**Ω**

Deimos lies like frozen on the spot. The more she tries to untangle herself from the omega, the harder more determined the Daughter squeezes her. And her thigh pushes up with just enough force between Deimos’ legs to rub the alpha...just the right way.

She lets her gaze wander along the roof of the cave trying to focus on the nooks and crannies in the old mountain instead of the omega. This is new territory even for Deimos. She was no stranger to being close to another woman. There had been a handful that Deimos had wasted a candle burn or so with for the sake of releasing tensions. But then Aspasia came along. Aspasia was the one to help Deimos settle the burning in her abdomen during her ruts, or whenever nature called for it. But once it was done, there was no cuddling, no aftercare. Unless Aspasia wanted something she didn't purr. Not like this.

Deimos turned her head and watched the sleeping omega with a mixture of suspicion and fascination. Is this a game? To lead her astray, to poison her thoughts? It has to be, for where she lies she's _feeling_ things. Things she cannot understand.

Pain darts through her chest again. Just like the night before and she sucks in air through her teeth only to feel a sudden tingle near the lower parts of her abdomen where defined muscles dive in underneath her belt.

The Daughter's fingers brush against the skin there, and her breath, hot and soft tickle the side of Deimos’ neck. Coupled with the purr, and the muscled thigh between her legs Deimos feels herself grow harder.

“Malaká,” she mutters. She better wake the omega before Deimos does something she'll regret. She gives the omega a hard shove, and she stirs awake, lips swollen from a short night's sleep eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Agapi mou,” the omega whispers with a smile in her voice and before Deimos knows what's happening the Daughter has rolled on top of her pressing her wondrously soft lips against hers. That's when she knows they've done this before. That they've been like this before. How, she cannot tell, but she knows these lips, recognises the feeling of them. How they make her feel.

Deimos kisses the omega back, her hands landing with a firm grip on the Daughter's hips but where she would simply pull Aspasia's small clothes to the side and thrust inside Deimos simply rests her hands on the Daughter's hips.

 _Daphnae,_ her mind whispers, and then something in her chest calls out to the omega above her. _Zoi mou_.

It feels like the time Kleon stabbed her with a fiery hot fire poker through the shoulder. Only this time it blazes through her entire chest and she cries out from the pain breaking the spell as she sits up clutching at her chest.

The Daughter now dragged out of the spell sits in her lap and blinks back at her. Then when her brain recognises what's happening, she quickly hugs herself. shielding herself from Deimos as if she's just been violated. It only lasts for a heartbeat until her eyes land on Deimos. Then her expression is riddled with worry as she gently grabs Deimos’ face. Her hands are soothing but the pain still throbs violently through the alpha's torso.

“What is wrong?”

“Don't know,” Deimos gasps through the pain.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Chest. Burns.”

“Burns?” Daphnae's forehead puckers. “Could the arrowhead be poisoned? I couldn't smell anything.”

Deimos shook her head. Kleon had trained her to withstand the pain of poison and to recognise the effect on her body. This feels different from the acid burn of hemlock.

“May I please look at your chest?”

“Try not to enjoy yourself too much,” Deimos groans through another pulse of burning pain.

The Daughter snorts. “I shall try to contain my excitement.”

“Just like you did when waking up?” It draws a blush from the Daughter where she sits, still on top of Deimos who, mere moments ago, had been as hard as a rock.

“It’s this cursed bond you’ve infected me with. Giving me these...odd dreams,” the omega hisses through her teeth. “It was simply being caught in these unsettling visions.”

“Of course it was.” It vexes the Daughter and the indignant look on her face brings Deimos not just a little bit of joy. But whether it’s because she likes to torment the omega or the cute wrinkle between her brows Deimos isn’t sure of. This in return unsettles her.

“I _do not_ walk around kissing people I just met,” the Daughter’s eyes thin in annoyance, “or would rather see dead.”

“You wound me,” Deimos replies dryly as the Daughter’s fingers peel the chiton apart. Her brows dip when her gaze falls on Deimos’ chest.

“Ma Dia!” The omega’s fingers reach out for the thick scar that carves its way across Deimos’ collarbone, and a patch of charred skin stretched between the demigod’s bosom and onto her left breast. “What is this?”

“My trophies.” Deimos looks down at the scars that cover her body.

“Trophies?” The Daughter stares at her mouth ajar.

“From finishing my trials. They were given to me from my mentor.” She shrugs.

“Someone gave you these?”

Deimos does not understand the bewilderment etched on the omega’s face. “It’s part of training.”

The Daughter’s fingers feathers across the bite mark left on Deimos’ shoulder a few days before. “ _She_ did this. That omega.”

“Not all of them,” Deimos replies defensively. Though she holds no love for Aspasia, she doesn’t like the tone that has slipped into the Daughter’s voice. “She is _not_ my master. No one is.”

The omega takes a deep breath. “I didn’t say that. But Deimos, a fine pelt, majestic antlers or a necklace made from an honourable kill, those are trophies. Not pain or wounds carved into our skins by our mentors.”

Deimos looks away in annoyance. What did the Daughter know of pain, of surviving at all costs? _No one_ knew pain like Deimos. No one had learned how to embrace it. Let it become part of them.

The omega’s thumb and index finger curl tenderly around Deimos’ chin. She pulls at it gently until the alpha finds herself facing the Daughter again. “I am not trying to lecture you. I only wish one day you’ll understand this.”

Whenever Aspasia grabbed Deimos’ chin her eyes were hard. Steely and possessive. Demanding. The Daughter’s eyes, however, are kind, even though Deimos knows they shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be looking at Deimos with anything but disgust or fear. That’s what usually reflected back at her whenever Deimos bothered to look people in the eyes.

“Now,” the omega smiles and Deimos can tell it’s to make her feel less agitated, “where does it hurt?”

She presses her fingertips against the bony part of her chest, right above the charred skin.

“Here?” the omega press her soft hand against the spot Deimos had pointed at. Her touch burns and soothes all the same. “Does this hurt?”

“I don’t feel pain.”

“Well…” The Daughter arches an eyebrow.

“I _usually_ don’t feel pain.”

“But this is painful?” She presses gently with her palm. “Is it the skin or the chest?” Her palm that strokes Deimos’ chest reminds the alpha much too much of the dream. An image from the dream flashes through her mind. The Daughter on top of her, the moan tumbling from her lips as she sinks down on Deimos.

The alpha exhales slowly willing herself to remain unaffected by their connection. But the Daughter smells so good. Unmarked. Sweet. And it makes it hard for the alpha to focus. The omega chooses that time to lean to the side to study something. The small movement rubs against Deimos who lets out a frustrated groan when she fails spectacularly to remain unaffected.

“Leader of the Daughters, can you stop touching me?” She growls, and it draws a puzzled look from the omega who leans back in Deimos’ lap. She flinches at the continuous rubbing. “And could you perhaps...disembark? _Please.”_

“Oh.” the omega looks down where they were almost joined together, only thin fabric keeping them apart. _“Oh!”_ A blush spreads across her cheeks and she quickly sits back on her haunches.

Standing up Deimos brushes herself off in an attempt to regain some of her dignity. “We’ve rested enough. We shouldn’t waste more time.”

“How are we getting to Phokis?”

Deimos closes her eyes and shakes her head. She does not like the tone in the Daughter’s voice. “Now what?”

“I remember there being _two_ horses. Not one.”

She turns around to look at the cave entrance where she secured both horses. Only one remain.

**Ω**

The day had not started well. Daphnae had awoken, tangled up in the arms of the demigod. But that was perhaps not even the worst part. No, the worst part was _how_ she’d woken up. The alpha had woken her up during a particularly intense dream. In which Deimos lips and tongue locked around her nipple all the while the alpha’s deft fingers stroking her, fucking her with such tenderness Daphnae feels her entire abdomen erupt in flames. She’s so close So close. That’s when Deimos wakes her.

 _No!_ She growls. The alpha’s scent is so strong. Powerful. She rolls them over crashing her lips against Deimos’. The same lips that had brought her such wicked pleasure only moments before. Deimos hands grip her hips and Daphnae find herself grinding her hips, pressing herself against the alpha. And while Daphnae grows more and more damp with want, the stunning woman underneath her grows harder. It's not until the demigod sits up abruptly clutching at her chest that the spell is broken.

Daphnae is shocked at her own provocative behaviour, at the impiety of it. Appalled at how her throat feels thick at the thought of the dream, her body buzzing with warmth all over. And the throbbing. The pulsing between her legs. It is unlike anything she's ever felt before.

Shame washes over Daphnae where she sits on the horseback. She had taken an oath. Made a vow to Artemis but in that moment with Deimos—it shames her to admit—she had been willing to break it. The very moment Daphnae admits it she sends a silent prayer of forgiveness. For Artemis to see, not her impure thoughts, but her strength to resist them.

Someone moves behind her, no, _Deimos_ moves behind her the strong legs pressing against Daphnae’s. Something had startled one of the horses which Deimos swears she secured, but nonetheless, it had taken off sometime during the night when they slept.

At first, Deimos had insisted on walking despite Daphnae pointing out if Deimos walked they might as well abandon the horse and both walk. Her suggestion had been received just as well as expected. Deimos had simply ignored her. Until the sun stood high, and they had barely travelled half the distance Deimos had intended.

With a grunt and a glare, Deimos finally succumbed and allowed Daphnae to help her up on the horse’s back.  And now the alpha sat pressed up against her, the strong arms around Daphnae’s waist as Deimos steered the horse through the long-winding ravine.

She runs her fingers through the horse’s thick mane ignoring Deimos’ hot breath at her neck or when the alpha’s chin lightly brushes against her shoulder. Deimos is the strangest thing Daphnae has ever experienced. She is dangerous, a monster, but behind all of that, there seems to be...something more. And though she knows after the artefact they may never see each other again, she wants to know what that is. What’s lurking behind the inferno of rage that Deimos is. And it has nothing, absolutely _nothing_ to do with the fact that she can’t stop thinking of Deimos’s lips on hers.

It irks Daphnae that Deimos’ has this effect on her, and when the horse stops momentarily she is pushed back into the alpha. Deimos’ breath tickles Daphnae’s jaw and she turns to shoot her an annoyed glare. Did she have to be so close? 

The alpha quickly averts her eyes keeping them firm on the path ahead of them. Daphnae tilts her head. Had Deimos been looking at her? She narrows her eyes and drags her gaze up and down the side of Deimos’ face. A faint scar runs through her brow, another one, thicker, snakes from below her ear and across the defined jaw. _Why does she have so many scars?_ They were old scars, faded but some so deep they will never fade. It makes her think of the pain in the demigod's chest. Was it still there? Had she simply gotten used to it as it seemed she did with all other pain? 

Deimos’ jaw clenches. She knows Daphnae is watching her and she doesn’t like it. And yet it doesn’t bother the omega. Why didn’t it bother her? Quickly before Deimos can stop her, she places her palm against the scarred cheek. Deimos tenses but looks at her nonetheless. Holding Daphnae’s gaze with her own for the longest of moments. The omega wished she wouldn’t for in those amber eyes she sees the faintest hint of someone searching very carefully for something. Could Daphnae really kill Deimos after Phokis? If it was truly the only way to make Deimos pay for her crimes, the gods would send her a sign. She sends a quick prayer to Artemis, to guide her hand, show her the way.

“An offering to the goddess?” A middle-aged woman in a linen chiton startles Daphnae and she quickly drops her hand into her lap. Deimos, however, must have known she was there for she simply turns to scowl at the woman who shrinks down. But it doesn’t keep her from holding her hands out towards the small shrine next to the statue.

Daphnae lifts her gaze. There on a small plateau stands a beautiful stone statue, tall and magnificent just like Deimos. But unlike Deimos this statue wears a thin peplos, one breast exposed, her extended hand holding a golden apple for her worshippers to bow before.

Daphnae swallows. Aphrodite the goddess of love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...this took a while, didn't it just?  
> But in my defense! I have like 5 others on the go.  
> Anyway, it's here now, I hope it was worth the wait.  
> Thanks for your patience, kudos, and comments!
> 
> I'm trying to update my stories as often as possible  
> and as of now my updating schedule looks mostly like:  
> Sundays and Mid-week.  
> If you wanna keep closer tabs on me hit me up on  
> twitter: @lmjuniper  
> tumblr: inkedshepard.tumblr.com

Deimos sits quiet, eyes glued to the uneven terrain in front of them. They're moving slower than she would like, but with one horse they have little choice. The day has passed much too quickly and soon they’ll have to find somewhere to set camp. Not for her, but for the Daughter. She needs to keep the Daughter safe. For the sake of finding out the truth about their bond, Deimos tells herself.

The setting sun behind the treeline bleeds into the sky, pink and orange punching holes through the thick canopy. She lets her eyes chase them, taking her mind away from the omega pressed tightly against her. Every time the horse moves across a root, a stone, or a particularly big bump in the ground the Daughter is pressed into Deimos. At one point the Daughter tips a little too far to the side. Deimos catches her and for a heartbeat longer than usual the omega’s eyes linger on her. She can feel the corner of her mouth tug upwards and she quickly looks away. Back on to the untouched terrain before them.

It’s difficult feeling the omega’s skin press against hers constantly. It makes Deimos want to wrap her arms around the Daughter, pull her close, keep her safe. She lowers her gaze towards her lap. The intensity of their bond coupled with the Daughter’s shapely rear pressing up against Deimos where they sit makes it all that much harder...to concentrate.

“We shouldn’t be on foot for much longer,” Deimos says taking extra care to sound as nonchalant as she can. “Darkness is drawing near.”

The Daughter turns in her seat and her hazel eyes dance with amusement. “Surely the fearsome Deimos isn’t afraid of the dark.”

Deimos snorts. “I simply don’t want you—a delicate human—to have to traverse the night which can be full of horrors. Beasts and bandits.”

“ _Delicate?_ ” The omega’s voice rises before dipping into a low, pleasant chuckle as she folds her arms over her chest. “There is _nothing_ delicate about me.”

The last sentence is said with such determination that it sends a tendril of excitement through Deimos and she leans forward. “Prove it.” She was sure the omega would back down, flushed as always by the sudden close proximity of their faces.

Instead, the Daughter twists her lips. “Give me a sword and I’ll prove it to you.” Her hazel eyes challenge the alpha.

Deimos blinks and tries to keep the twitch from the corner of her mouth. “I’m fairly sure you had a grip of my sword this morning but did nothing to prove it.”

The Daughter’s expression turns horrified. “This morning?” Her eyes flicker back and forth no doubt trying to decide whether or not Deimos is lying.

“You know,” Deimos flashes her teeth in a grin, “when you attacked me with your... _lips_.”

For the first time since they met the proud expression bleeds off the Daughter’s face as she hides it in her hands, a mortified groan slipping across her lips.

“Calm yourself. I’m only teasing. Though you were close enough you didn’t taint those hands of yours,” Deimos laughs and looks back up at the ground in front of them. It’s not until her face starts feeling weird she realises: she’s smiling. And the Daughter is observing her.  

Pressing her lips together she pulls her brows into a frown, eyes intentionally avoiding look the Daughter. “ _What_?” She finally grunts.

“You’re—” the Daughter stops herself and scents the air. Eyes narrowing. “Do you smell that?”

Deimos inhales through her nose, taking in the earthy smell around them, deciphering the scents until she finds it. An unpleasant odour. She scans the forest trying to identify the smell when tendrils of smoke twist and curl around the trunks.

The Daughter’s brows furrow. “Where are we?”

They’d left the cave early in the morning and passed the altar of Aphrodite a good while after the sun stood high in the sky. “We are somewhere along the Kitharion Foothills.”

“There are no settlements here, no cities.” The Daughter grabs at Deimos’ arm.

“Which is why I chose this route.” She looks at the strong hands clutching her arm.

“Give me the reins.” It’s a demand, uttered so sharply Deimos almost finds herself handing over the reins.

“I don’t think so.”

The omega’s eyes go dark and her lips pull back in a snarl. Her scent changes to that of a trapped animal. “ _Give. Me. The reins_.”

Deimos’s alpha whines like it’s being berated by its omega, struggles to be in charge. _You can’t trust her to be in charge. You can’t trust her._

The strong hands that have been holding onto her arm grab hold of her face. “My _sisters_ live here.”

If they were as skilled as the last village of Huntresses Deimos had to fight they would be just fine, her minds reasons with her. But something else, something intangible that makes her chest feel like it might split open in half, makes her hand the reins to the omega.

“Hold on,” the omega mutters kicking the horse into a gallop. Invisible hands pull Deimos backwards from the sharp start and she wraps her arms around the Daughter’s taut waist. Pain explodes in her chest drawing a ragged moan from her.

“Deimos?” The Daughter’s voice rings through the rush of air as they speed through the night.

Nausea washes over her and she closes her eyes willing the pain to go away. But when even that doesn’t help she leans her forehead against the omega’s back focusing on her breathing.

**Ω**

She can hear the screams echo through the forest before they get close enough to see anything. The faint sound of metal clanging whips through the darkening evening as the air fills with the smell of singed flesh, blood and fear. Daphnae wills the horse to run faster, mercilessly pushing it to its limits with a quiet prayer of forgiveness to Artemis. Her sisters are in trouble, she can feel it, can smell it.

She’s not far from the camp when she spots the fires. Flames cut through the dusky evening as they lick the grassy ground and simple hunting huts, engulfing the entire camp. The cries have died out nothing but the sound of fire roaring through the night.

 _No!_ She drops down off the horse, lands ungracefully on her hands and knees. She pushes off the ground heart caught in her throat. Scrambles towards the flames. She can’t smell her sisters. Can’t smell any of them.

The fire is everywhere, the heat stinging her eyes, drawing tears from them. Her sisters are in there! A shriek cuts through the burning inferno. She spins on her heels. It’s coming from one of the huts. It comes again, pained, terrified. One of her sisters is alive, but there’s a sea of fire between her and the direction the scream is coming from.

She paces. Back and forth. Puts both her hands on her head desperately trying to think of a way. _Through the fire!_ There is no other way. She is fast on her feet, the fastest of all her sisters. She is fast, and she is devout. Artemis will keep her safe and if not then that is the will of the goddess. But Daphnae cannot abandon her sisters. She _will_ not abandon her sisters.

She takes a deep breath and draws a few steps away from the fire, giving herself enough distance to build up her speed.

“Artemis, grant me strength,” she utters the prayer with a defiant stare at the flames and smoke that billow towards the sky. _You will_ not _take my sister._ Her feet push off the ground, lurches her forward. She’s in flight, hurtling towards the fire, the heat growing stronger, burning against her skin. Then she slams into something, and the world spins. The heat dissipates as someone drags her away from the fire. _No!_

Deimos. It’s Deimos whose strong arms hold her tight. Hold her firmly in place.

“My sisters!” She shouts. Claws at the demigod. Snarls and bites. Couldn’t the alpha hear the scream that cuts through the night? But the alpha doesn’t let her go, only holds her tighter whispering into Daphnae’s ear. Drowning out the screaming coming from the inferno behind them.

It’s not until they sink to their knees that Daphnae realises. The scream she can hear is her own.

“Irémise, Daphnae, irémise.”

**Ω**

They stand by the burning village until the Daughter’s voice is hoarse from screaming. Until she runs out of air and collapses to the ground. Deimos sinks to the ground with her, arms wrapped tightly around the omega.

The Daughter doesn’t try to push her off anymore but leans her forehead against Deimos. Her eyes are closed, but her lips quiver as wet tears trail the length of her nose before dripping on to Deimos’s chestplate.

Despair and grief wash over her, pulses from the omega turning the air around them thick with sorrow. With one arm still snaked around the omega’s waist, Deimos lifts her hand, curls her fingers behind the Daughter's ear as if it’s the most natural thing to do. It feels like it. Why she still doesn’t know.

“Irémise, Daphnae, irémise,” she whispers and then when Daphnae chokes on a muffled sob Deimos presses her lips against the wet cheeks. Places kiss after kiss on the warm cheek as grief racks the body in her arms. _I will protect you. I will keep you safe._

At some point, Daphnae stills in Deimos’s arms. She breathes slowly through her mouth as she allows herself to be comforted by the alpha. And Deimos drags her thumb across the dark brow until the omega’s breathing has slowed and she’s fallen into a restless sleep.

Deimos doesn’t need sleep. So she stays awake with the omega held tightly in her arms, all the while flashes of imagery flits through her mind and it makes the pain in her chest grow more and more intense. She should leave. Return to Aspasia before the pain grows worse. Before it becomes something she can’t handle. Aspasia could help. Help deafen these odd sensations. The pain would help.

Aspasia. The leader of the cult. The lover between her sheets. A snake. It was all physical between them nothing more. But something about Aspasia’s obsession with Alexios rubs Deimos the wrong way. Why did the woman want Deimos to make him suffer? To torment him until he gave in? Why did Aspasia need Alexios when she had Deimos?

The Eagle Bearer was no one. Just a regular man with a broken lance, that was all. Unlike her, he did not have the blood of gods running through his veins. He would not have been able to survive Chrysis. Or Kleon. And yet, parts of her cannot help but wonder if the cult thinks he has her blood. If that’s why Aspasia wants him so badly. Does she mean to replace her? Deimos shakes her head. Impossible. They would see he was nothing.

The Daughter stirs in her arms drawing her attention away from the thoughts of the Eagle Bearer. Of Alexios. She drops her gaze from the fire to look at the omega who sleeps on her side, curled up and pressed into Deimos where she sits on the ground.

Slowly the omega’s eyes flutter open, the bright flames mirrored in her eyes. Pain wrinkles her features, Deimos can tell by the way Daphnae’s brow curl near the middle. Deimos knows pain. Recognises it well. Like an old lover. But she does not understand why. Why the Daughter feels such pain. Death is a natural part of life. She doesn’t understand it, yet she wants to make it go away.

The omega turns her head and before Deimos has time to look away hazel eyes speckled with emerald green turn to look at her. Deimos swallows thickly her throat feeling dry when Daphnae suddenly sits up.

“I need to prepare my sisters,” she says quietly staring into the dying fire. The air still smells of burned flesh but most of the flames have died out only glowing embers and ashes remaining of the camp “I need to give them a proper burial so that Artemis will…” Her voice trails off.

“This is a large camp. There’s too many. It will take all night.” Deimos watches Daphnae square her shoulders.

“Then so be it.” The Daughter pushes herself off the ground and walks towards the remains of the camp.

Deimos gets to her feet, brushes herself off and follows when something catches the omega’s attention. Something to their side. Daphnae scents the air, now that the fire has mostly died out other things are easier to distinguish and Deimos senses it too. Something alive. Or _someone_ alive.

She follows Daphnae through the darkness until they reach the edge of the hill. It cuts off allowing for an open view of the sea further ahead and below them a sharp slanting hill covered in tall grass and rocky ground. There on his back lies a soldier dressed in an all too familiar white, blue and silver armour. An Athenian.

A snarl rips from the omega’s mouth and she sprints the last bit pulling to an abrupt stop by the soldier.

“Why?” Daphnae’s voice is hoarse from earlier and when he doesn’t reply, only opens and closes his mouth air wheezing from his lungs she shakes him. “Why?!” Her voice rasps and breaks as she grabs at his face.

It’s the middle-aged face of a soldier that has seen many battles and has the scars to prove it. A deep gash runs in a red line just below where his chest plate ends, his one hand covering it in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

“F-for…” he swallows, green eyes that have been staring at the night sky gliding over to look at Deimos’s face. She frowns.

“For what? You killed my sisters for _what_?”

“De…” His voice hitches in his throat, his breath coming in short bursts. “De-Deimos.”

She frowns at the sound of her own name. She had not ordered this attack. The omega releases his face and rises to her feet. Her back is turned towards Deimos, but when she turns her face is hard, eyes alight with fury like the Daughter of Ares herself.  “You.”

Slightly taken aback Deimos turns to look behind her as if suddenly someone else had appeared behind her. “Me?”

“ _You_ did this! How dare you touch me when this is your doing?” Daphnae shoves Deimos hard in the chest causing her to stumble backwards.

“I did not do this,” Deimos snarls her hand flying to the hilt of her sword. _No one_ touches Deimos. Daphnae launches herself at her. The omega is shorter than her, but she’s strong almost knocking Deimos over.

“I’m going to kill you!”    

“I didn’t do this. I was on a horseback with _you_.” Deimos snarled grabbing the Daughter’s wrists hard with her hands.

It hits them both, an invisible wave sending them sprawling away from each other. Deimos lands hard, her head slamming into the ground with an unpleasant crack. Pain shots through her head, bouncing like an ear-shattering echo ringing in her ears. She tries to blink but finds her eyelids too heavy.

She thinks she hears someone call out for her but before she can turn to look the whole world swims before her and she falls into darkness.

**Ω**

Deimos cracks her eyes open with a loud groan and clutches her forehead. What in Hades name had happened? The odd sharp sound from before still rings in her ears. It's a loud sharp noise, like a high pitched screech. Lynxes fighting for territory?

“Ugh.” A groan that echos Deimos’s own reaches her ears. “It’s your turn, agapi mou,” the omega mutters, her voice lower and raspier than usual.  

Deimos blinks in confusion. “My turn?”

“Don’t you _dare_ try to weasel your way out of it,” the Daughter says her tone slightly sterner.

Deimos turns to face the omega. “Weasel out of wh—” She stares at the naked omega in the bed next to her. Her dark hair pools across her shoulders, long and silky looking, almost reaching down to the small breasts that look fuller than normal. Deimos’s gaze drops to the big, round belly that the Daughter’s hand rests on as she glares at Deimos. “How did _that_ happen?!”

“How?” Daphnae laughs and points at her big belly. “This is all _your_ doing.”

Deimos shakes her head. No. No, that was not...that was not hers, it couldn’t be. She had not so much as laid a hand on the Daughter. Except for that one time in the cave. But nothing, _nothing_ happened. At least nothing that would result in a pregnant omega. “I did nothing I—”

“You did _nothing_?” Daphnae teases then purrs and leans forwards. “You did plenty, and this,” she grabs Deimos’s wrist and presses her hand against the soft skin on the belly that looks like it might burst at any given moment, “this and the crying in the crib is the results of all those things.”

She should jerk her hand away from the omega. Deimos doesn't like to be touched and logic tells Deimos to run. To flee. Instead, she finds herself brushing her thumb against the soft skin. “How...” she whispers more to herself than anyone else.

“Agapi mou?” Daphnae cups her face between her hands, worried eyes observing her. “Is everything alright?”

Why does the omega’s touch not repulse her? Why can’t she look away from her? Walk away?

“I don’t know,” she murmurs and looks away. It has to be another dream. A silly dream. Or a nightmare. But then something kicks underneath her palm and she snaps her eyes up towards Daphnae whose eyes look back at her. Warm and soft. And Deimos knows it can’t be real.

Perhaps it is one of those strange visions? But what are they? They can’t be true visions. She and Daphnae are enemies. Aspasia wants her to kill the Daughter. And Deimos has seen the way Daphnae looks at her. The omega is planning her revenge. Sooner or later they will be facing each other in a fight to the death. This much Deimos knows is true. And yet, this dream or vision feels unlike anything else.

"How can this feel so real?" She murmurs to the belly her palm rests on.

The omega smiles pulling Deimos closer and brushes her lips against Deimos’s. They’re so impossibly soft, her kisses tender and...Deimos cannot find the right words but she kisses Daphnae back.

“Because it is real,” Daphnae whispers her thumb giving Deimos’s bottom lip a gentle stroke as if she’s never seen it before. Never tasted it like this before. “Why don’t stay here while I check on Eudora?”

Daphnae releases her face and moves towards the edge of the bed. The omega must be nearing the end of her pregnancy and she moves slowly grunting as she drapes her legs across the edge. Something in Deimos’s chest feels odd. Not like the pain she’d felt earlier but a buzz. Warmth. Maybe she was getting ill with the Blood Fever?

Daphnae lets out a tired sigh looking winded as she leans, on one hand, trying to push herself off the bed.

“Wait,” Deimos pushes off the bed quickly and rounds it. “You rest. I’ll take care of...it.” She cringes at her own choice of wording. “I mean not like,” she draws a thumb across her throat, “but you know…”

Daphnae laughs. A throaty pleasant laughter that rolls off her lips. “Agapi, what’s with you tonight?”

Deimos scratches her neck

“If you found another Eurymanthian boar you’re going to have to tell me. Last time it took us days before you stopped rambling oddities.” Daphnae’s eyes sparkled with amusement and humour.

“Eh.” Deimos lets a chuckle slip. “No…”

“Well, since I’m already up, give me a hand and we’ll go together.”

Together. The Daughter said the word like it was the most natural thing to say to someone like Deimos. She holds out her hand nonetheless and the omega grabs it, allowing herself to be pulled from the bed.

Getting up too fast Daphnae sways ever so slightly. Out of nowhere the alpha instinct to protect her mate and their child kicks in and Deimos quickly wraps her arm around Daphnae’s waist pulling her close.

Daphnae’s skin is warm against hers. Tantalising and delicate. It hits Deimos then, the sweetest scent of her omega with child. The intensity overwhelms her, takes her by surprise and she nuzzles her nose against the omega’s pulse point.

“Kassandra…” Daphnae’s voice dips into a low purr as Deimos pull her closer. “Eudora…” Daphnae tries to protest but the shudder in her breath, hot on Deimos’s cheek, betrays her.

“Can’t she wait?” Deimos mutters brushing her hardness against the omega’s hip. Everything about the moment surprises Deimos. Her own actions, the need, no, the yearning to be with her omega. Protect her, rut her, _love_ her.

An invisible hand tugs hard at her chest and she’s once again slung backwards, the world seemingly warping around her. But Daphnae doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, Kassandra lowers her to the bed and then Deimos startles awake.

She blinks up at a sea of stars, tiny dots penetrating the dark. Something is pressed close to her. She turns her head. Daphnae. The omega stares back at her the anger from earlier gone, replaced with...something else.

“I did not do this.”  The words pour out of Deimos as if she can’t get them out fast enough. The Daughter, however, doesn’t speak. Her palm presses against Deimos’s chestplate, runs the length of it until it reaches the neckline. She stops there, not venturing closer. They both know what happens when they touch. Then without a word she lets go, rolls over and disappears into the darkness.

Deimos watches her. Frowns and rubs her chest. The strange feeling from the dream lingers. Maybe it’ll go away after the artefact. She gets back up and brushes herself off. She’ll allow the Daughter to bury her sisters. After that they need to go to Phokis, if not for answers, then at least to hopefully severe this bond between them.  

**Ω**

Fifteen of her sisters. Gone. In a most horrific manner. Burned to death or cut down. It had taken her all night and until noon to cleanse and prepare their bodies and now she stands staring at the burial pyre in front of her. She has done what she can for her sisters and hopes it will appease the gods. That they will welcome her sisters when they arrive. Though she had no coins for the ferryman she’s prayed and sacrificed for Artemis’s blessing. That she will help her sisters get safe passage.

After finding the soldier in the forest, after the bizzare dream, Deimos had stayed quietly in the background watching but never approaching, leaving Daphnae to grieve and care for her sisters. And though that was the appropriate thing to do, she still couldn’t fight the feeling of loneliness. Of wanting the alpha to comfort her again. The way she had done earlier. Wrapping her arms around Daphnae making her feel like nothing could harm her. It was absurd, ridiculous even. She was the leader of the Daughter of Artemis. This was her duty. She is supposed to need no one. Is supposed to be strong for her tribe. And yet Kassandra’s presence gave her strength.

She blinks. Kassandra? That name again. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. In the dream or the vision, whatever it was that was happening to her, she had called Deimos Kassandra, just like the night before. And Deimos had looked at her with those intense eyes, undressing Daphnae despite already being naked and in the flesh. With child. Impossible. She had taken an oath of chastity. Nothing, _no one_ , would be able to make her sway from it. And yet Daphnae cannot shake the feeling the settles in her chest when she thinks about it. Thinks about Deimos’s palm pressing against her belly, remembering the incredible feeling of life growing within her. She growls in frustration. She should _not_ be feeling like this.

Either way, regardless of how Daphnae might feel about the alpha’s presence, Deimos had left after a while. She quietly wonders if the alpha has decided to give up on finding answers. Or maybe she just doesn’t think this is worth her time. The latter is the most likely reason and Daphnae finds herself annoyed at the alpha. Not even in their deaths can Deimos pay her sisters the respect they deserve.

Why should she? The alpha had already slain so many of her sisters without so much as a heartbeat’s regret. And though Deimos wasn’t responsible for burning down this camp, she might as well be. Anger grows in her heart. Deimos had burned down more than a handful of camps. Just as brutally cut her sisters down.

Leaves rustle behind her back and she spins around expecting the attackers to have returned, perhaps to makes sure there were no survivors. Instead, the alpha comes walking from the green shrubbery.

“Why are you here?” Daphnae almost spits, her thoughts fresh in her mind. Deimos doesn’t reply only walks up to stand next to her but Daphnae won’t look at her. She returns her attention to the burial pyre picking up the torch she’s made and dips it on the small campfire.

A heavy feeling settles in her chest. These were her sisters, she’d visited this camp many times, hunting, fishing, celebrating with these women. And now they were gone, murdered by soldiers carrying the Athenian colours. For what? And without coins for the ferryman the likelihood of Kharon allowing them passage was slim to none. Would they have to wander the banks of the river until their debt had been paid? She cannot bear the thought of it, but if she doesn’t bury them before the next moon, their souls will be left wandering the living world. Lost in-between for all eternity.

Sorrow and grief tug at her mouth when fingers brush gently against her arm. And though she should still be angry with the alpha her touch makes Daphnae want to slump into her arms again.

Deimos holds her hand up, her expression unhardened, soft even. Insecure. Daphnae drops her gaze towards the hand that holds a leather pouch.

“For the ferryman.” The alpha’s brows curl looking as if she half-expects Daphnae to slap the pouch from her hand. But when she neither slaps it from her hand nor takes it Deimos gently grabs her wrist then press the pouch into her hand. The touch has its usual effect but Daphnae ignores it. She won’t let it dictate what she is feeling, _really_ feeling in the moment.

“Why?” She looks back up at the alpha.

“So that your sisters may not be lost.”

She scoffs and shakes her head. “We are supposed to be enemies.”

“We can go back to hating each other tomorrow if that makes you feel better?”

She can’t help but laugh and she tilts her head. “Alright, tonight we are not enemies.” She hands Deimos the torch. “Help me say farewell to my sisters?”

Taking the torch Deimos gives a small nod then follows as Daphnae walks up to the funeral pyre. She dips her hand into the pouch her fingers brushing against the cold coins and she pinches one between her fingers plucking it from the pouch. A golden oblos. Enough to grant her sisters safe passage.

Relief and something akin to gratitude wash over her and her vision blurs as she places the small coin into one of her sisters’ mouths. She tries to speak but her voice shakes and she gulps down on a sob.

“Gaia, mother of all, I greet you.” Deimos’s voice is soft and quiet, almost reverent when she speaks. Then her hand places itself on top of Daphnae’s and with the gentlest of motions, she closes the sister’s mouth. “Aniazo.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...was it worth the wait?  
> Please feel free to leave me a comment.  
> They make me oh so happy!


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